Alfred Soto: Giddy with ideas — a synth buzz here, trap percussion there — this Canadian singer enjoys performing her angst, her lower register supplying a strong dose of camp. She could be Tove Lo or a character in a Xavier Dolan flick.[7]

Anthony Easton: You can tell that she is famous in France, because the sleaze is in very good taste; you can tell she is Québécois, because those efforts never fully erase all of the grease. Extra point for how much it reminds me of Brigitte Bardot singing about motorcycles. [7]

Katherine St Asaph: A vision of “dark pop” that just barely grazes what’s charting then veers off in its own, deeply French direction. There’s a lot out there like it.[7]

Edward Okulicz: Farmer’s best songs are epic, sprawling worlds to get lost in that are so deep and complex that even Google Translate won’t help. “Rolling Stone” pairs a trip-hop dark-pop groove with an oddly simple “la la la” chorus, and it’s enticing, but this is territory she covered and conquered last decade. The auteur has become a craftswoman; this is certainly beautifully appointed, but like a gold-plated trinket I’m not sure I know what to do with it.[5]

Will Adams: There’s great atmosphere on the verses alchemized with just a few essential elements: wiry guitar, light percussion, and a temple-throbbing bass. But the chorus loses it, opting for “la la”s and jangly guitars that steer it into confusingly jaunty territory.[6]

Maxwell Cavaseno: Dreary electro noir-pop that relishes in its apparent worldliness, but instead stabilizes for a flat perpetual glare; both in gesture and in agitation. The kind of record that is too assured it’s communicating wisdom without anything of the sort to offer.[3]